


Trust me

by Loftec



Series: Book & Movie AUs [2]
Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: AU, M/M, Vampires, major season 3 feels for some reason, vadim guests on the phone, vamps fusion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-04
Updated: 2016-11-04
Packaged: 2018-08-28 22:09:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,596
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8464837
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Loftec/pseuds/Loftec
Summary: Mr Milkovich is a certified weirdo, but he also happens to be a certified accountant and not half bad at his job, considering his relatively low rates. So Ian guesses he can live with the weird midnight meetings and the abrasive correspondence. The good looks are a considerable bonus.
And the pointy teeth turn out to be less of a problem than one would imagine.
 
Explicit. Warning for minor character death, see beginning note for details.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [horror_business](https://archiveofourown.org/users/horror_business/gifts).



> Explicit for pretty darn graphic sex oops.
> 
>  
> 
> Warning for fairly gruesome descriptions of minor character deaths. But you know, they're vampires and they're mean.
> 
> Also warning for description of serious injuries caused by fire. It's brief, but intense (and ultimately fine).

* * *

 

 

 

[ian@gallagherbros.com](http://loftec.tumblr.com)  
10/26/2015 2:46 PM  
To: info@mmcpa.com  
Re: Re: Services

 

Mr Milkovich,

your sister and I are just friends. Thursday at 11 PM will be fine.

Kind regards,  
Ian Gallagher

 

 

> On Oct 25, 2015, at 10:58 PM, M Milkovich <[info@mmcpa.com](http://loftec.tumblr.com) > wrote:

 

> No need for the pitch. Agree to my conditions and sign the papers and you’ve got yourself an accountant. I offer an initial meeting free of charge and I’ll talk you through my rates then, but I can tell you right now you won’t find a better deal in the city. My business hours are between 10 PM and 6 AM monday through friday, and no, that’s not a typo. Hence the low rates. This week I can squeeze you in on Wednesday at 3 AM, or Thursday 11 PM. Next week is pretty clear, otherwise.

> Congratulations on sticking it to my sister, there’s no discount for that.

> Sincerely,  
> Mickey Milkovich, CPA

 

 

> > On Oct 24, 2015, at 9:42 AM, Ian Gallagher <[ian@gallagherbros.com](http://loftec.tumblr.com) > wrote:

 

> > Mr Milkovich,

> > I’m writing to enquire about your services. My brother and I started our own company little over a year ago and business have started picking up. We offer tailored online & offline solutions for businesses looking to get ahead in the digital information market, providing a comprehensive package of forward thinking branding and innovative applications. We’re a small enterprise, but it’s our hope that you would consider working with us to help us build and expand on it.

> > I was referred to you by your sister Mandy, she speaks both highly and freely of your abilities as an accountant.

> > Best regards,

> > Ian Gallagher  
> > www.gallagherbros.com  
> > 0755-522 32 32

 

 

Ian is five minutes late when he finds the door and knocks on it, looking down the narrow corridor as he waits for a response. He is undoubtedly in the right place, the clear sign nailed permanently to the door says as much, but it still feels sort of surreal to stand there, in the middle of the night, on the first floor of a shabby-looking apartment complex, the rest of which appears to be purely residential. He’s pretty sure he can smell pot coming from under the neighbor’s door.

If it hadn’t been for the neon sign in one of the first floor windows, blinking and catching his attention, Ian probably would have spent even more time walking up and down the street, scratching his head. The telecom didn’t seem to work once he found the correct entrance, so he ended up sneaking in with a large lady carrying three bags of groceries and trailing four kids. Without really thinking about it he offered to carry two of her bags and ended up on a detour to the fifth floor, where he wasted another five minutes politely declining an invitation for a night cap. 

A lot about Mr Milkovich seems strange, from his odd business hours to his unconventional correspondence, to his misplaced office, and it’s not for the first time that Ian wonders if he hasn’t in fact fallen victim to some sort of scheme. Or if maybe there’s some sort of kinky underground accountancy sex scene he isn’t aware of, but with which he is about to become severely intimate.

When the door eventually swings open it’s to reveal yet another surprise. Mr Milkovich is _young_ , younger than Ian’s modest twenty-five for sure, even though it logically can’t be by much, unless he’s some kind of accountant child genius. Doogie Howser, CPA.

He doesn’t say much, he lets Ian in with a grunt and a nod and leads him through a narrow hallway to a large, sparsely decorated study. It looks like he’s turned the living room into an office, kitchen on one side and a closed door on the other. The windows are blacked out by heavy curtains, but Ian can see the orange-yellow flickering from the neon sign outside bleeding in around the edges.

Mr Milkovich sits down behind a large desk and picks up a folder, flipping it open and looking at Ian over his black-rimmed glasses.

”Sit,” he says and barely waits for Ian to comply before he continues, ”you’ve had your company for a year and a half, yep?”

Ian feels like he’s forgotten pretty much everything he’s ever known in the presence of this odd man, looking like a teenager and sounding like a middle-aged hustler. He sinks down on the offered chair and nods, pretty sure he managed to screw that up too by mixing a few shakes in there.

”From what I can tell you’ve turned a profit, but you’re probably not doing nearly as well as you been expecting,” Mr Milkovich casually puts his finger right where it hurts, glancing at his papers as he rifles through them, ”which makes me wonder if you’re like, lazy or just plain stupid for already lookin’ to bring in outside help just to deal with what I assume isn’t exactly an overwhelming amount of paperwork.”

Ian clears his throat and shifts uncomfortably in his chair, frowning at the accountant’s judgmental tone and the small smirk twitching in the corner of his mouth, just short of blatantly rude.

”Look,” Ian says and doesn’t bother hiding his annoyance, like he would’ve done if he’d been with a client, ”we’re doing alright, but we could do better if I didn’t have to waste all my energy on trying to figure out all this bureaucracy bullshit. Didn’t come here to be told shit I already know by some seventeen-year-old playin’ dress-up accountant, alright? I need help, I’m looking for help. Don’t hafta be you.”

Mr Milkovich just stares at him for a moment and then he finally lets the smirk out to play, taking off his glasses and leaving them on the table. He looks a lot older without them, when there’s nothing obscuring his icy blue eyes staring Ian down like he can see right through him.

”Alright,” he says and turns over a paper to lay it down in front of Ian, ”here are my rates, my recommendation is that we meet up once quarterly to go through your books. Keep your nose clean and your receipts in order and we’ll get along just fine.”

”Okay,” Ian agrees before he’s really thought it over, eyebrows climbing up his forehead when Mr Milkovich pulls out another stack of papers from a drawer and puts it down next to the first. He feels even more turned around than he did five minutes ago, but one quick glance at the curious accountant’s rates and it’s clear that Ian can afford to deal with one or two oddities. Right now it’s pretty much all he can afford, if he’s totally honest.

”Mr Milkovich-,” he starts with a frown, feeling like he should make some kind of effort to take control of the conversation.

”Mickey,” Mr Milkovich says, shrugging almost apologetically when Ian looks up at him.

”Mickey,” Ian repeats, ”Ian.”

”Ian,” Mickey mocks him, Ian’s sure, that little smirk back in place, ”never sign a contract without reading it, I’ll wait.”

Ian doesn’t need to be told how make a deal, this is something he’s actually good at; handling people, understanding contracts, cutting through the bullshit and padding to get to the core of a thing. Mickey’s contract is much like the man himself; a little unusual, straight to the point, and a really good deal.

”So you and Mandy, huh?”

Ian frowns, stopping mid-sentence to look up at Mr Milkovich. Mickey.

”What?”

”This is where I’d threaten you, normally,” Mickey admits and inclines his head, picking up his eyebrows, ”but you seem like a sweet kid and my sister’s a lotta things, but sweet ain’t one of ’em.”

Ian lets go of the contract and sits back in his chair, just when he thought he was getting a hang of this meeting, Jesus. Starting with ’kid’ and ending with the outrageously wrongful assumptions, Ian isn’t sure what to address first.

”Not that it’s any of your business,” Ian says and frowns, ”but me and Mandy are just friends, and I’ve only known her for a couple of weeks but she seems plenty sweet to me.”

Mickey holds up his hands in defeat and makes a face like Ian’s a goddamned fool. ”Suit yourself. I’d literally kill for my sister but that doesn’t make her any less of a thirsty bitch, and she will wreck you. Just a little PSA for you there, buddy, free of charge.”

Ian takes a moment to just look at his would be accountant, taking in his slight smirk and his perfectly arched eyebrows before he leans forward again, elbows on the table, and makes sure he’s got Mickey’s attention.

”Think you’re underestimating her,” he says, smiling a little when Mickey rolls his eyes, ”and she’s not my type.”

Mickey’s eyebrows slowly bunch up and Ian could bite his own tongue off, he hadn’t meant to come off so fucking obvious. Not this soon and definitely not during a damned business meeting, anyway. Clearing his throat, Ian bends his head and tries to focus on the paper in front of him, opting to ignore the awkward moment rather than blow it up by making it into some kinda big deal, tryna stand up for himself.

”Why not?”

Mickey’s face is a perfect match to his incredulous tone, staring back at Ian when he looks up. Ian tries to think of something to say but his mind draws a blank and his mouth kinda just hangs open in useless surprise.

”What?” Seems like the safe option.

”Why. Not.” Mickey repeats, like he’s talking to a child, a child who’s about to get beat up judging by the way he’s crossing his arms, ”something wrong with her?”

”No! I- um, I mean, it’s-,” Ian nervously licks his lips and shrugs, somehow feeling like he oughta apologize for what he’s about to say, ”she’s a chick?”

Mickey’s eyes widen with realization, but the hostile scowl doesn’t soften. Ian stands his ground and stares him down until Mickey breaks the intense contact and rubs a hand roughly over his bottom lip, eyebrows arched and gaze somewhere over Ian’s shoulder as he shrugs and obviously tries to look like he doesn’t care. Ian huffs and goes back to reading the contract, taking his time with it and going through the whole thing twice just to make some kinda point. That he’s a passive aggressive little shit, maybe, but whatever. Mickey smirks at him when Ian finally sits back and pretends to think it over, humming and scratching at his cheek. It’s like the tension drains from his shoulders when he looks at Mickey.

He signs the contract and leaves with a copy and a set appointment, his watch telling him it’s already midnight when he steps out on the dark street.

Their first meeting is a week later. Ian’s been up all day and maybe he was out too long the previous night too, investing a good hour in this one guy with a nice smile and a nice, round ass who fell asleep on him the second they got to his bed. Uncomfortable in the virtual stranger’s silent apartment, Ian’d put his clothes back on and caught the L back home, swaying with the train’s rickety movements and staring at his own reflection in the dirty windows. He can barely keep his eyes open now, blinking and stifling a yawn as Mickey looks through all the stuff he brought in; books and receipts, invoices and bank statements. They’re a mess, Ian knows this because he’s the one that made them that way, but Mickey seems to settle on just throwing him a pointed glare once in a while, instead of straight up calling him out on any of it.

It’s Christmas when they have their second meeting, snow blanketing Mickey’s neon sign and cold creeping in through his hardwood floors. Ian keeps his parka on the whole time and thinks about asking him to maybe turn up the heat a little, but he knows all too well what it’s like to try and live through long winters on a budget. Mickey still doesn’t talk much, he goes through Ian’s paperwork and asks him direct, clear questions, and he gets through everything he needs to get through in under an hour.

Their third meeting, Mickey’s in a downright awful mood, anything he says either no longer than one, grunted syllable, or a complaint. Ian is in excellent spirits, pretty sure he’s riding a medicated upswing and spring in full swing after Easter lifting his mood even further.

”I can’t read this!” Mickey exclaims after twenty minutes of incoherent muttering. ”You’ve got the handwriting of an epileptic leper.”

Ian thinks he probably should take offense, but he lets out a startled chuckle and bunching up his eyebrows in a confused frown he has to really try not to laugh out loud when Mickey glares at him. ”Lepers have bad handwriting?”

”Fuck off,” Mickey snarks and looks down at the offending paper, not quite managing to hide a tiny, involuntary smile, ”your hands fallin’ off your body, you imagine you’d have beautiful penmanship?”

”Apparently I don’t have one now,” Ian says and smiles when Mickey just shakes his head and doesn’t look up, his cheeks moving suspiciously and softening his whole face, crinkling the corners of his eyes, before the familiar scowl takes over once more. Ian rubs the pads of his fingers over his lips, trying to wipe his own smile away, before he gets up and moves around the desk. One hand on the back of Mickey’s chair and one on the desk, he leans in over Mickey’s shoulder and frowns down at the paper, Mickey holding it up a little so he can take a proper look.

”Yeah, no, that’s Lip,” he’s quick to pass the blame, squinting and leaning a little closer, ”pretty sure it’s not important.”

He doesn’t realize how close he’s standing to Mickey until he feels him move, shifting in his chair and leaning away from Ian looming over him like some creep. Ian shoots up straight and lets go of the chair, accepting the piece of paper when Mickey holds it up over his shoulder and retreating around the desk so he can sit back down.

Ian’s heart is racing, he’s staring at Lip’s illegible note and tries to calm himself down. If he didn’t find Mickey so entirely non-threatening, he’d almost think he was scared, terrified in fact, like being near the guy triggered some kinda fight or flight response, all of his natural instincts telling him to fucking run, fast as he can.

Glancing up at Mickey he almost expects to see something else, like a snake, or spindly spider legs, anything to warrant this ridiculous reaction, but Mickey looks exactly the same; strangely safe and appealing even while he’s scowling and rifling through the paperwork with a kind of agitated focus. He’s got a cold stillness about him and Ian has an odd feeling of deja-vu, properly taking in his general appearance. He thinks the accountant is wearing the exact grey button down shirt he had on three months ago, seemingly as unmoved by the then freezing cold apartment as he is now, when it’s comfortably warm.

Lip calls him their ’vampire accountant’, smirking and shaking his head at Ian whenever Mickey comes up in conversation. He thinks Ian’s some kinda wimp for not asking Mickey about his strange nightly business hours and Ian won’t argue with him, but he knows his brother is wrong. Whenever Ian gets to know someone new and they happen to stumble across his battery of prescription pills, or catch him in a depressive mood, or decide he’s acting crazy, he always hates it if they force him to confide in them. He wants his friends and occasional boyfriends to know about him, know that he isn’t ashamed of his diagnosis, know that he is taking care of himself. But he thinks he’s not being unreasonable when he considers it his own private business, and _his choice_ when and how he wants to open up about it.

Confronting him with a bunch of probing questions just puts him on the defense, and stirs up this stubborn side of him that never wants to share any personal information with anyone, ever. He tries to approach other people’s habits and peculiarities with the same kinda respect he would like others to show him, and remember that sometimes weirdness is just weirdness, but often there’s a reason behind it and just ’cause he wants to know doesn’t mean he’s entitled to ask.

Secretly he remembers a book he read when he was a teenager, about a guy who’s allergic to UV light and has to live his whole life at night, and he thinks it probably was all fiction but maybe it was based on an actual real medical condition, and maybe Mickey’s got it. But he doesn’t tell Lip that because Lip has enough opportunities to laugh in his face as it is, and he doesn’t ask Mickey to confirm his theory, because Ian’s healthcare is covered through his company and there’s no way Mickey doesn’t already know he’s bipolar.

And he hasn’t once tried to confront Ian about it, or looked at him any differently.

Ian really likes Mandy. He was unsure about her for a while after his initial meeting with Mickey, not wanting to give her the wrong impression. She got the wrong impression anyway and showed up at the Gallagher house one night, cursing him out and calling him all sorts of names. Easily fixed, Ian told her the truth and they spent the night on the couch, smoking and drinking (Ian in due moderation and Mandy for two, ’to compensate’ she says) and watching infomercials until dawn. He’d gone to work the next day, feeling like a zombie, and Mandy had made fun of him and made herself a nest in his blacked out bedroom, sleeping the whole day away and not reappearing until the sun’d gone down again and Ian was knocking on his own bedroom door, asking for his bed back.

Mandy is a night owl just like her brother, but in her case it makes more sense. She works the graveyard shift at a 24 hour diner and understandably doesn’t bother changing her routine for her days off. They never talk about Mickey, even though Ian sometimes finds himself thinking about him outta nowhere, some random question stuck on the tip of his tongue.

He almost forgets their fourth meeting. July sees an exponential upturn in their business and buried in work Ian doesn’t realize it’s been three months until the day comes and his calendar tells him he’s got a ’meeting with MM at 11 PM’. He spends the whole day frantically trying to assemble all their paperwork, only to show up at Mickey’s door with a box brimmed with disorder.

Mickey takes one look at him and then spends the next five minutes insulting the Gallagher name going all the way back to the dark ages, before he narrows down his focus to Ian specifically. Ian finds it funny at first, and then he tries to argue, and then it’s funny again, before he’s made to apologize profusely. He sits down and starts going through the papers without Mickey, and genuinely feels guilty when he listens to him making some calls in the other room, rescheduling a couple of appointments that were supposed to follow Ian’s.

It’s 2 AM and two packs of smokes later when Ian sinks back in his chair and groans, stretching out his legs and crossing his ankles as he glances up at Mickey. Barely visible through the nicotine fog, Mickey’s pacing around the desk and Ian in a wide circle, muttering around his cigarette and rifling through a small stack of papers. He’s got his sleeves rolled up and his hair on end, disheveled by the multiple times the last couple of hours he’s cursed and combed his fingers through it.

He’s got nice hands, Ian hasn’t really noticed them before now but between the agitated de-quiffing of his hair and the cigarette permanently wedged in between his pointer and middle finger, the long parade of glowing sticks fitting into the flow of his movements like they’re part of his body, the niceness of his hands is suddenly impossible to ignore. Ian spends an hour trying to discreetly read his offensive knuckle tattoos, and then another two trying to stop staring every time he gets a chance.

”There,” Mickey mutters and startles Ian out of his deteriorating thoughts, stopping right next to his shoulder to shove out an invoice and point to yet another example of Ian’s fiscal incompetence.

Ian squints at the paper just to humor him and then turns his head to look up at Mickey, fully intent on saying something witty and instead managing to forget the very basics of stringing words together to form coherent sentences, meeting Mickey’s ocean eyes and drowning.

Mickey stares back at him for a beat, then his tongue darts out to wet his lips and he steps back into his circle, deeply focused on his papers as he continues pacing around. Ian sighs and hides his face in his hand, rubbing it roughly and hoping he can somehow convince Mickey he’s just tired and nothing else, wishing he could sink into the floor and disappear.

It’s almost three in the morning when they’re finally done and Ian leaves before he does something stupid. He makes it downstairs and has his hands on the gate when he changes his mind, heart in his throat as he climbs the steps two at a time and knocks on Mickey’s door for the second time that night.

”What the-,” Mickey manages to complain, even though Ian barely waits for the door to swing open before he steps inside and grabs Mickey by the face, pulling him closer and crashing their lips together.

”-fuck,” Mickey mutters and casually introduces tongue to the kiss, pulling Ian with him inside and shoving the door closed behind them. Ian laughs out loud when he’s being pushed back against the door and he feels like he’s melting when Mickey steps up to him and re-captures his lips in a much softer, almost languid way, leaning into him with his whole body and holding on to his face with his cold hands, slowly warming up against Ian’s burning skin.

They work their way through the apartment, shedding clothes in a long trail across the floor, until Mickey reaches out behind himself and blindly opens one of the few mystery doors leading from his office. It’s pitch dark in there, the only source of light coming in from behind them as they stumble through the door and Mickey leads them inside. The room appears empty and the darkness seems vaguely endless, until Mickey hits against something and falls out of Ian’s hands, and not being able to see where he went becomes an acute problem.

”The fuck did you go?” Ian huffs and yelps when Mickey suddenly grabs him by the neck and pulls him down, kissing him wherever he can reach when Ian stumbles forward and lands on top of him, his hands sinking into a firm mattress when he tries to brace his fall a little.

His eyes closed and his lips finding Mickey’s in the dark by feel alone, Ian rolls his body slowly over Mickey’s, smiling into the kiss with each inch of skin connecting with skin, from thigh to cock to stomach to chest, Mickey’s hands traveling up his back and into his hair. Biting softly into Mickey’s bottom lip and egged on by the way he moans and arches up against him, mouth slack and willing when Ian licks into it, Ian angles himself away just enough to wedge in his hand between them and seek out Mickey’s dick. He fucking sighs into the guy’s mouth as he folds his fingers around it, hard and solid under his touch, almost cold at first against the palm of his hand, warmer and warmer with each of his teasingly slow strokes.

”Want me to suck you off?” he mumbles against Mickey’s lips, not missing how they bend into a familiar smirk at the suggestion.

”Want you to fuck me,” Mickey counters, breath hitching when Ian accidentally squeezes his dick with a little more gusto than he’d intended, ”want you comin’ deep inside my ass, man.”

Ian generally thinks it’s something of a turn-off when guys try to talk dirty to him, but this isn’t that. Mickey is breathless and confident and he’s incredibly fucking hot, laying out his preferences like a demand. Ian feels like he is on fire when he brings them back together, kiss deep and sloppy and only interrupted when Mickey suddenly grabs him and flips them around, grinding down on Ian with his whole body and his teeth catching the slight light from the still open door when he grins at Ian’s startled laugh.

”That okay?” he challenges more than asks, huffing out a quick breath against Ian’s cheek when Ian grabs himself two handfuls of ass and groans in ernest.

”Lights,” Ian murmurs, while he’s still in possession of some of his bearings, Mickey pressing wet kisses down his jaw and neck, ”wanna see you.”

For a second, Ian thinks he might have struck some kinda nerve and that Mickey might, for some reason, prefer to fuck with the lights off. But then he suddenly sits up, hands on Ian’s chest and knees bracketing his waist when he leans over the side of the bed and the room flickers to life with a fairly dull, yellow light, casting the room in long, soft shadows and Mickey in stark contrasts. Mickey ignores Ian’s blatantly hungry stare and bends down again to open a drawer and pull out a tube of lube, throwing it down next to them when he sits up.

”Like this?” he asks and underlines his question by pushing back and covering Ian’s twitching hard-on with his plush fucking gorgeous ass. Ian licks his lips and thinks it over for a split second. He shakes his head.

”Lie down,” he asks, more than demands, and follows when Mickey climbs off him to stretch out on his stomach, folding his arms under his head.

Every part of Mickey’s body seems cold until Ian touches it, kneading his hands into the globes of his ass, pushing them aside to breathe over his puckered hole, digging his face into his crack and licking at it until it’s flexing around his tongue. He’s rutting eagerly against Mickey’s calf and moaning into his ass as he listens to Mickey falling apart above him, breath stuttering and body shaking whenever Ian discovers a particularly sensitive spot.

”Stop,” Mickey breathes out when Ian’s one tongue and three fingers deep inside him, ”you gotta get on me, man. Now.”

Ian nods and slowly pulls out his hand, pressing his face into the fat of Mickey’s ass, sucking at a patch of his soft skin and moaning as he tugs at his own dick.

”Condom?” he asks, getting up on his knees and crawling up Mickey’s body, lying down on top of him and aligning their faces, lazily slotting their lips together.

”Nah,” Mickey grunts and opens his eyes just to scowl when Ian pulls his face away.

”You don’t have any condoms?” He thinks he sounds calm but his mind is just one big chorus of ’fuck’.

”Don’t really need ’em when it’s just me, do I?” Mickey snarks and arches an eyebrow at Ian’s stunned face, stuck somewhere between disappointment and disbelief. ”Use your own if you really have to.”

”What?” Ian groans and collapses his weight down entirely, burying his face in the mattress to muffle his agony before he turns back to Mickey again. ”Why would I bring condoms to a meeting with my accountant?”

”CPA,” Mickey corrects and grins when Ian groans again, ”and certifiably clean, I promise.”

Ian sighs and tries to avoid Mickey’s steady gaze, almost impossible he’s so close.

”Yeah? What about me? You don’t know me.”

Mickey snorts and smirks when Ian meets his eyes again.

”I’m your accountant, I know everything about you,” he jokes and rolls his eyes when Ian smiles and shoots back a quick ’CPA’. Then he suddenly gets something almost tender about him and he picks up a hand to brush his fingers lightly over Ian’s temple, back into his hair. ”Do you trust me?”

Ian stares at him for a couple of long seconds, frowning at the calm realization. ”Yeah.”

”Then get on it, tough guy,” Mickey decides and curls his fingers around Ian’s neck to pull him back in for a deep kiss, stoking up the fizzling flames throughout Ian’s whole body.

Ian ignores the tiny voice at the back of his mind reminding him of times when he’s been careless before, and why. And that mania never feels like mania when it’s revving to take him for a ride. But he needs to believe that this isn’t that. That he’s allowed to trust his own judgement sometimes, despite his lousy track record and his volatile mind, that he deserves to throw caution to the wind and let himself trust someone else too, for once, even while he’s still uncertain about himself.

His thoughts stop racing and form a single line, humming and gasping through him as he feels Mickey mold around his dick, watching it disappear inch by inch into his slick, tight hole until there’s nothing left. Caught up in the visual, Ian sits back on his heels and slowly pulls out again, until Mickey’s clenching around the head and lube is squeezing out around it, dripping down over Mickey’s balls and most likely soaking the sheets.

Ian sucks in a quick breath and carefully rubs the pads of his fingers up and down the exposed length of his cock, touching them gently to Mickey’s rim and moaning out loud when Mickey reaches one of his beautiful fucking hands back, his slim, tattooed fingers joining Ian’s to blindly feel out their connection. Indulging in a few shallow thrusts, digging his fingers into Mickey’s ass and Mickey dragging his along his dick, in and out, wrapping lightly around the shaft and caressing the pulsating vein underneath, Ian thinks he could come from the visual stimulation alone, seated inside Mickey and watching his hand move.

”Jesus,” he sighs and forces himself to pull out, ignoring Mickey’s annoyed grunt when he does and flopping down on the bed next to him, ”need a minute.”

Mickey snorts and shuffles closer, getting up on one elbow and grinning wolfishly down at Ian.

”You’re turning out a huge disappointment, Gallagher,” he says and laughs when Ian covers his face with an embarrassed groan, turning into a moan when he feels Mickey’s hand back on his throbbing dick, ”a _huge_ disappointment.”

Ian smiles into the palms of his hands and pulls them down to look at Mickey when the mattress dips and thick thighs suddenly mold over his hips and Mickey’s slicked up ass rubs against him.

”It’s okay,” Mickey’s voice is low and no longer jovial, and he reaches back to line Ian up again, slowly sitting down and taking him back inside, ”’m real fuckin’ close too.”

Ian stays still and lets Mickey set the pace, bracing his hands on Ian’s chest and moving himself up and down with purpose, occasionally grinding down and rutting his ass helplessly onto Ian’s hips. Staring hungrily at his screwed up eyes and furrowed brows, Ian plants his feet and stabs up into him, encouraged to do it again, and again, when Mickey’s mouth falls open and he emits this soft, almost wounded moan. It pushes Ian over the edge, and he’s frantically driving up into Mickey’s slick hole when he comes, stars dancing behind his eyes and leaving him barely conscious of Mickey gyrating down on his spent and flagging erection as he takes care of himself, cursing wildly when he spurts all over Ian’s chest.

They get along _really well_. Three times that night and again and again for the rest of the week, Ian coming over to Mickey’s apartment each evening before his eccentric business hours start. It’s on day six when Ian pulls off his most likely boyfriend’s soft dick and mouths his way up his relaxed body, ending on his lips and stretching out next to him, absently rubbing a hand up and down his chest as he sleepily sets out to commit his sharp profile to memory.

”Why nights?” he asks and blinks in surprise at his own question when Mickey turns his head to look at him. ”Don’t have to tell me.”

Mickey stares at him for a good minute, at least, then he cracks a small smile and shrugs, jostling Ian with the movement as he turns his gaze back to the dark ceiling.

”I’m a vampire,” he says and smiles wide when Ian snorts, but can’t help looking at his teeth when they catch the light.

”Funny,” Ian drawls and settles in with his nose against Mickey’s neck, breathing him in, ”we a couple?”

Now it’s Mickey’s time to snort, and Ian feels like he ought to be nervous about the answer or berate himself for asking stupid fucking questions. But he’s sated and tired and so fucking comfortable in Mickey’s bed, half draped over the man himself, he can’t muster the energy to freak out.

”’Course,” Mickey says and then his lips press against Ian’s forehead and his fingers comb through his hair, before he leaves Ian to fall asleep on his own.

It becomes routine, unusual and not perfect, but somehow natural. Ian comes over after work for dinner/breakfast, _and dessert_ , after which he stays the night, sleeping while Mickey’s working in the other room. In the mornings, Mickey usually wakes him up with another sweet delight, more often than not before they have breakfast/dinner and Ian kisses him goodbye and leaves for work again. It means that Ian suddenly has to commute to get to work, not just amble down the stairs in the mornings and be done, but considering his gains he doesn’t see it as any kind of sacrifice, not even a small one.

It’s been fifteen days of x-rated domestic bliss when Ian wakes up to a lazy Sunday morning he aims to spend wrapped up in his certified boyfriend, smiling against the back of his neck and gently kissing his warm skin, huffing out a laugh when Mickey remains firmly asleep and absently tries to wave him off, only managing to slap him weakly in the face. Ian contemplates fifteen different creative ways of waking him up just to mess with him, but in the end settles for a quick kiss to his shoulder and pulls the sheets up to cover his boyfriend’s body when he gets out of the bed.

Mickey says it doesn’t bother him, but Ian can tell how cold he gets when Ian isn’t there to balance out the temperature of the bed. It’s almost like Mickey’s coldblooded or something, only warming up when Ian’s there to share his heat. But Ian hasn’t tried calling him a lizard since that first time, bruises still visible on his arm after the ensuing wrestle match ended with Mickey giving him an impressively painful snake bite. Give it a few years and he’ll come around, ’lizard’ is a fucking badass term of endearment.

Not really thinking about what he’s doing, Ian gets up and walks over to the window. The curtains are always drawn, heavy and black, blocking out light and sound and turning the small apartment into its own little bubble. Ian likes it, but he’s suddenly struck by an urge to know what the view is like, see if the world is still out there, moving, while Ian’s in Mickey’s bed and busy falling in love.

He grabs the curtains with both hands and pulls them apart, sunshine instantly flooding the room. Ian grins when he hears Mickey yelp behind him, but then there’s a loud thud and Ian instantly realizes what he’s done. Mickey might not have told him why, yet, but the goddamned curtains are _always closed_. He pulls the heavy fabric back together as fast as he can, the clamps rattling along the track above him. He expects the room to fall back into its usual dull grays, but instead there’s a flicker of orange behind him, and Mickey is yelling.

Turning around Ian doesn’t pause to take in the absurd scene before he scrambles over the bed and grabs the sheet with him, throwing it down over Mickey’s burning body on the floor, leaping after to kneel down next to him and pat him down wherever he can reach, coughing when the smoke hits his nose and throat, stinging and contracting at the sight of Mickey writhing in agony, screaming unnatural and awful and desperate.

”Fuck, fuck!” Ian cries and stops slapping at Mickey’s body when he realizes that he’s no longer burning and that he’s probably just making it worse at this point. ”What’s-, how-, shit Mick-”

He grabs the sheet and carefully peels it off Mickey’s now still body, smoke wafting up in his face as he gathers up the fabric in his hands.

”What have I done?” he breathes out, hovering his hands over Mickey’s half burnt face, his blackened mouth working as though he’s chipping for air, the eye not melted into his skull blinking up at the ceiling. ”I-, we need-, ambulance.”

Ian forces himself to get up and find his phone, of course he left it in the office. He grabs it and has to try dialing the number four times before his shaking hands hit the right three fucking digits. Wiping absently at the tears streaming down his cheeks he puts the phone to his ear and walks back into the bedroom.

He drops the phone. Mickey is fine, completely fine. He’s standing by the foot of the bed, naked and fine and perfect. Ian sucks in a quick breath and fucking sobs when Mickey turns around and his face is back to normal, eyes and nose and mouth all there, skin pale and almost glowing in the dark. He looks like he’s about to say something when Ian steps up to him and pulls him in, gingerly holds on to his face and touches his fingertips to every smooth, miraculous part of him, kissing him again and again.

”Ian,” Mickey mumbles into his desperate kiss, and just hearing his voice back to normal is almost enough to calm Ian down completely.

”I thought-,” Ian starts, closing his eyes and cradling Mickey’s cheeks in his hands as he rests their foreheads together and swallows convulsively over the conversation he’s been dreading, avoiding, and no longer in good conscience able to put off, ”I’m-, Mick. I’m sorry, I’m sick. Thought I was fine but this-, oh god, fuck, I thought you were on fire, I thought I killed you by opening the fucking-, fuck, please. I’m so fucking sorry.”

”Ian,” Mickey says again and his steady voice brings Ian back, gives him balance and opens his eyes, ”it’s not you, okay? It’s me.”

 

 

From Mick arrived 9:32 AM, Sept 4, 2016

Please call me.

 

From Mick arrived 8:05 PM, Sept 4, 2016

Ian, please. I’m sorry. I was gonna tell you but you didn’t ask and it was just really nice, you know?

 

From Mick arrived 8:05 PM, Sept 4, 2016

And I fucking did tell you, remember? You didn’t believe me, but I never lied to you.

 

From Mick arrived 7:12 PM, Sept 5, 2016

You think this is new? You think I haven’t done this before? I don’t know what else to do, I can’t win. I really fucking liked you.

 

Sent 9:01 AM, Sept 6, 2016

Jesus. Could you give a guy like two days to process the fact that his boyfriend is a fucking …bat?

 

From Mick arrived 9:03 AM, Sept 6, 2016

Bat. Really.

 

Sent 9:42 AM, Sept 6, 2016

yes, bat! is that fucking racially insensitive or something? fuck you you fucking bat!

 

From Mick arrived 9:55 AM, Sept 6, 2016

well, ELF if we’re being politically correct, but I can do bat if it helps.

 

10:15 AM, Sept 6, 2016

wtf is ELF?

 

From Mick arrived 10:21 AM, Sept 6, 2016

extended life form. don’t blame me, i wasn’t on the committee

 

Sent 10:43 AM, Sept 6, 2016

bullshit. there’s a committee?

 

From Mick arrived 10:57 AM, Sept 6, 2016

yep, and meetings. Sanguines Anonymous. again, decision made way before my time.

 

Sent 11:17 AM, Sept 6, 2016

how old? like 200 years?

 

From Mick arrived 11:19 AM, Sept 6, 2016

bitch, try 15. chronologically I’m only like 30. I’m not a fucking creep.

 

Sent 12:51 PM, Sept 6, 2016

no you’re a bat.

 

From Mick arrived 7:58 PM, Sept 6, 2016

not really though

 

Sent 9:05 AM, Sept 7, 2016

you kill anyone

 

From Mick arrived 9:23 AM, Sept 7, 2016

jesus Ian, can we not do this over text? come over tonight, please

 

From Mick arrived 9:24 AM, Sept 7, 2016

also, no to that question. goldstar vegan elf

 

Sent 10:51 AM, Sept 7, 2016

ok

 

Sent 3:43 PM, Sept 8, 2016

let me think?

 

From Mick arrived 8:12 PM, Sept 8, 2016

sure

 

Sent 8:49 PM, Sept 8, 2016

it’s just a lot to take in. thank you for telling me, I’m sorry I freaked.

 

From Mick arrived 8:53 PM, Sept 8, 2016

yeah. me too. sorry

 

Sent 1:42 AM, Sept 16, 2016

I’m outside

 

From Mick arrived 6:02 AM, Sept 20, 2016

you wouldn’t believe this asshole at work tonight, like actually sliding twenties across my desk to get me dealing dirty with his taxes. Nope, not today satan!

 

Sent 8:14 AM, Sept 20, 2016

wtf you kick him out?

 

From Mick arrived 8:18 AM, Sept 20, 2016

yep. i was forceful af, you shoulda seen me wouldve got toy all hard

 

Sent 8:32 AM, Sept 20, 2016

I’m working

 

From Mick arrived 8:34 AM, Sept 20, 2016

so? what are you wearing

 

Sent 8:41 AM, Sept 20, 2016

 

From Mick arrived 8:52 AM, Sept 20, 2016

cute. wear that tonight and you might get lucky

 

Sent 9:21 AM, Sept 20, 2016

already lucky

 

From Mick arrived 9:33 AM, Sept 20, 2016

you dating someone else I don’t onkw about?

 

Sent 9:46 AM, Sept 20, 2016

fuck you. 8? you mind if I bring food?

 

From Mick arrived 9:52 AM, Sept 20, 2016

s fine, no garlic. can’t wait

 

Sent 9:56 AM, Sept 20, 2016

stop texting me I really need to work.

 

Sent 10:11 AM, Sept 20, 2016

and I’m ignoring your calls cause i know you just wanna talk dirty i honestly don’t have time for your below average phone sex game rn good morning

 

From Mick arrived 10:13 AM, Sept 20, 2016

bitch please i rock your world on the fucking phone

 

From Mick arrived 10:15 AM, Sept 20, 2016

good morning Ian, see you tonight

 

 

 

It’s a couple of days into November when Ian wakes up to an empty bed. Wandering through the apartment twice (three times), he eventually concludes that he is alone. Carefully checking the blinds, he confirms what the time has been telling him for a while, that it’s several hours past sunrise and Mickey isn’t home. Ian tries calling his phone a couple of times (twelve times) and then moves on to Mandy’s, leaving her an incoherent message and then sending her a text too, just to cover all his bases.

Then he calls Lip.

”Fuck Ian,” his brother greets him in his usual amicable way, ”get off your boyfriend for two seconds and come do your fucking job, we’ve got a lunch meeting with Mac today and-”

”Mickey’s gone,” Ian interrupts him, frowning when Lip goes quiet on the other end, ”woke up and he’s-, I don’t know, Lip. He’s gone.”

”You sure?”

”Yes I’m fucking sure,” Ian bites out, rubbing at the tense crease between his brows, ”it’s daytime and he’s not here, I’m freaking out.”

”Have you tried Mandy?”

Ian wants to kill someone. ”Yeah.”

”Maybe he just got stuck somewhere and he’s waiting it out, where did he go last night?”

”Nowhere!” Ian’s hope that Lip could talk him down is quickly squashed by his stubborn and rapidly escalating panic. ”He didn’t even have any meetings scheduled, he was gonna do some paperwork and then wake me up, he didn’t wake me up.”

”There like, a big pile of dust somewhere?”

”Fuck you!” Ian spits and circles the room like a fucking animal, pinching at his stinging eyes.

”Sorry, sorry, it was a joke. A really bad and, uh- severely unhelpful joke. Come on, Mickey’s fine.”

Ian tries to calm his breathing, nodding stupidly at Lip’s words.

”You wanna come home?” Lip tries, voice hopeful and annoying. ”Out of sight, out of mind?”

Ian shakes his head and has to swallow a couple of times before he can speak. ”Need to stay here.”

”Alright,” Lip sighs, and Ian can practically hear the gears turning in his head, ”you sit tight and I’ll be there in half an hour, could you call Mac and reschedule?”

”Sure,” Ian agrees and closes his eyes, a distraction, a distraction is what he needs, ”okay.”

The distraction doesn’t help. He spends most of the day pacing the study’s hardwood floor, ignoring Lip behind the desk, observing Ian’s caged behavior with his trademark transparent worry. Why he should think that Ian’s disorder has any play in this situation, Ian doesn’t know. Maybe he thinks Ian’s imagining it, which doesn’t make any sense, or he’s worried it’s gonna spiral him into a fit of depression, which Lip should well fucking know by now isn’t how this shit works.

Mickey remains gone.

Ian almost leaves the apartment a couple of times during the day, putting on his parka and shoes and sometimes getting as far as all the way out on the street before he changes his mind and walks back inside. Looking for Mickey while the sun is still out is useless.

He gives it two hours after sunset before he decides to head out again, thinking Mickey’s had ample time to come home on his own by then, if his only problem was the sun. He hasn’t even gotten his shoes back on, however, when the door suddenly bursts open and Mandy ambles inside, the lifeless body of her brother draped along her side, arm slung across her thin shoulders.

”Mandy,” Ian pleads and lunges forward to catch them when it looks like Mandy is about to collapse under Mickey’s added weight. He sinks down on his knees and gathers Mickey into his arms, tilting his head back to touch a careful hand to his cold face. ”Is he okay?”

”Assface’s fine,” Mandy groans and stretches out on the floor, on her back, not bothering to close the door, ”he’s just being dramatic.”

Mickey doesn’t look fine, he looks dead, he feels dead.

”We _are_ dead,” Mandy reminds him when Ian gets Lip to lock the door and then help him carry Mickey into the bedroom, ”he’s fine.”

But ’fine’ feels like a very loose term, Ian thinks, when they close the bedroom door and sit down around Mickey’s desk to let Mandy explain.

”We got summoned,” she says and looks a lot more concerned than she initially tried to make herself out to be, ”last night. Terry’s in town. He knows about you.”

”Who’s Terry?” Lip asks, leaning forward in his seat and clasping his hands together, looking between Mandy and Ian when the former snorts.

”Terry’s their stem,” Ian explains, frowning as he tries to get a grip on the situation, ”he’s like this two centuries old Soviet vampire-”

”Ukrainian,” Mandy interjects without passion.

”Right,” Ian huffs and feels his face fall when he thinks she sounds just like Mickey, ”stems are the ones who can turn people into other vampires.”

Lip just looks more confused. ”Mickey can’t turn people?”

”Jesus, Lip, no,” Ian sighs, ”Mickey’s like, a thirty year old guy from Chicago, you thought my boyfriend was some kinda monster of the night and you what? Didn’t have a problem with that?”

”Fifty year old pedo doctors, hundred year old bloodsucking vampires,” Lip says with a shrug, like there really isn’t a big difference between the two, ”honestly didn’t think it was gonna last. Thought I’d intervene if you, you know, started wearing leather pants or, uh-, walking around the house humming on ’Forever Young’.”

This is Ian coming out all over again, and he really kinda wants to stand up and give Lip the whole lecture this time, let him know how stupid all the ways his narrow-minded experience of the world makes him sound, acting like he’s got all the information he needs on everything that matters. But his brother’s reaction is also oddly comforting, because Lip might sound like he doesn’t care but Ian knows better. _Name a single time I’ve let you down._

”Thought about it,” Ian finds himself admitting, instead of arguing, because Lip sometimes also happens to be entirely right, ”but he couldn’t do it even if I wanted to, even if he wanted to, which I don’t think he does ’cause he always changes the topic when I try bringin’ it up. We’d probably have to go out of state to do it, anyway, find a different stem.”

”Finally there’s marriage equality,” Lip says, nothing in his face or voice really indicating the dripping sarcasm, ”and you guys _still_ can’t catch a break.”

”Wow,” Mandy is shooting daggers at Lip, but there’s no mistaking the tiny, amused smirk trying to break out in the corner of her dark red lips, ”you’re kind of an ass, aren’t you?”

”Terry’s bad news,” Ian ignores them, speaking more to himself than them at this point, before he turns his focus to Mandy, ”what do you mean ’he knows about you’?”

Mandy winces and looks at him, giving him a small apologetic smile.

”You,” she says, ”big fucking surprise, he doesn’t like it. He doesn’t give a shit about us, we’re just a couple of street rats he wanted to eat once. Turning us was on a whim, turning out to be useful for a while was a fluke, kicking us to the curb was not hard for him. He doesn’t give a shit, but he could feel that Mickey was happy and he didn’t like it. Didn’t help that you’re a dude, either, but Terry bein’ all backwards is probably the least of our problems right now.”

”What did he do?” Ian almost doesn’t want to ask, but he has to know so he can fix it.

”Made him drink,” Mandy says, gravely, ”just a drop, but it’s enough. He’s got the hunger.”

”That doesn’t sound good,” Lip offers his unhelpful commentary, ”I thought you said he was all neutered and shit, Ian?”

Ian stops freaking out just long enough to glare at his brother.

”Mickey’s never fed on human blood,” he explains quietly, feeling the tears prickling behind his eyes, ”it takes a lotta strength, abstaining, but he says he’s not strong enough to fight the hunger if he’s triggered. I’m not allowed to use anything sharp around him, makes me shave back at the house and everything.”

”Well,” Mandy sighs, ”he’s triggered now, and it’s like fifteen years coming so it’s not gonna be pretty. I think he’s shutting down right now because he knows there’s only one acceptable solution.”

”No,” Ian says and stands up, pulling both Lip’s and Mandy’s attention to him, ”find another solution.”

Mandy throws up her hands in defeat and shakes her head, but then seems to have a thought.

”There is something-,” she starts and pulls out her phone, ”my sponsor used to talk about this thing that happened in New York a couple of years back. Let me make a call.”

Ian sits back down and keeps his eyes on her as she puts the phone to her ear and starts pacing, waiting for someone to pick up.

”Vadim,” she eventually says, nodding in relief, ”jak vy požyvajete?”

Ian can’t help smirking when Lip’s eyebrows climb up his forehead and he points at Mandy with his thumb. ”She speaks Russian?”

”Ukrainian,” Ian insists with a huff, rolling his eyes and secretly enjoying being the one saying that for once, ”Mickey does too, would’ve been pretty hot if they didn’t know how because Terry forced them.”

”It’s Terry,” Mandy says and pulls Ian’s attention back to her, only to realize she’s switched back to English, ”we wanna kill him.”

She nods a couple of times, listening. ”And that worked? Yeah. 2001, so we’re good. Do we have to worry about the community?”

She listens for a few minutes, her worried frown slowly smoothing out. ”Got it. Duže diakuju, Vadim. Thank you.”

She turns off her phone and Ian stands up. ”Well?”

”I think it could work,” she says, almost to herself, nodding like she needs the encouragement.

”We want to kill him?” Ian asks.

”Killing him will turn us human,” she turns to face him, resolution clear in her set jaw, ”we’ll become our actual age, but we’ll be free and Mickey won’t have to turn into a monster, or throw himself on the sword.”

Ian nods. ”Then we’ll do that.”

”If Terry is two thousand years old,” Lip starts, looking at nothing when both Mandy and Ian turn to him, ”what about all his other, uhm-”

”Off-shoots,” Mandy supplies with a concerned frown, glancing at Ian.

”Don’t care,” Ian can’t even think about that, can’t let Lip’s greater picture perspective sway Mandy into some kinda self-sacrificing bullshit, taking Mickey down with her, ”them or Mickey, it’s Mickey, it’s no question.”

”Yeah, no question to you,” Lip agrees, but sounds a whole lot like he’s arguing, ”doesn’t mean you can make that decision for everybody else. This is like a legit moral dilemma, Ian, you can’t just stick your head in the sand and pretend doin’ this won’t have consequences.”

”Alright,” Mandy cuts in, right when Ian’s about to fly off the handle, ”lay off him, Mr Legit Moral Dilemma, and maybe listen to someone who’s actually got some facts?”

Ian dips his head to hide his brief smile and Lip sits back in his chair, holding up his hands.

”Terry is strong, because he’s old,” Mandy explains, turning to Ian, ”but his mind-game is weak. He doesn’t like having too many active off-shoots at one time because it becomes confusing to him, and he can’t control them like he wants to. The ones before us are already dead, that’s why he needed us in the first place. There might be some old ones left in Europe but I’ve never heard of any. Vadim didn’t mention it.”

Ian looks over at Lip and juts out his chin, raising his eyebrows. Lip shrugs.

”Didn’t say we shouldn’t do it,” he says, ”just making sure we’ve got our bases covered.”

Ian nods, his jaw clenching around his words. ”Yeah, well, guess they’re covered.”

”Right,” Lip suddenly stands up and walks over to the desk to start packing up his stuff, ”I’ll go get the cavalry and, uh-, weapons, right?”

Mandy joins him and looks at Ian until he follows, standing next to her and crossing his arms when she turns back to Lip.

”You attack after sunrise, use the day to your advantage,” she says, like she’s laying out their plans for a nice Sunday picnic, ”wood and steel, anything that cuts. You need to behead him, burn him, and crush the bones. Ian, has Mick shown you the mausoleum?”

”Yeah,” Ian confirms and steps closer to the desk, nodding, ”he’s romantic like that, you know?”

”That’s where he’ll be,” Mandy ignores his comment, all business now, ”best case scenario he’ll be sleeping, but don’t count on it.”

Lip frowns at her. ”Where will you be?”

”Here,” Mandy nods emphatically, ”with Mickey. Terry’s thrall is strong on us, he’d just turn us against you if we came with to help.”

There’s something that’s been nagging at the back of Ian’s mind for the last fifteen minutes, and suddenly he manages to put his finger on it, queasy and unpleasant.

”I gotta ask him,” he announces, not bothering to meet the confused stares shot his way from both sides, ”Mick, I need to ask him what he wants. Terry never asked him.”

Mandy reaches out to touch his elbow, gentle and trying to somehow offer some comfort.

”You can’t tell him, Ian,” she says, ”if you tell him our plans he’ll go straight to Terry, he can’t help it.”

”So, I won’t tell him,” Ian insists, determined, Mickey would just try and talk him out of going, anyway, ”I’ll be smooth about it.”

Lip flat out snorts and even Mandy’s looking skeptical. Real fucking nice.

”Please,” is all Ian can think of to say, and looking between his brother and Mandy they both reluctantly agree, Mandy nodding and Lip at least not overtly arguing.

”Call me when you’re done,” he says instead, picking up his bag and hanging it off his shoulder, ”let me know what he says.”

The bedroom is dark and still, and Ian has to feel his way through it after he closes the door behind himself. Finding the bed he kneels down next to it and searches out the string on the bedside lamp, turning it on.

Mickey still looks dead to the world, but he’s moved in the time since they left him, curled up on his side and arms hugged tight over his chest. Ian reaches out a hand and touches it gently to his cold cheek, covering it completely when Mickey stirs and pushes up against him.

”Mick,” Ian tries, licking his lips and moving his hand to carefully brush a stray strand of hair back from Mickey’s forehead, ”can you hear me?”

”Fuck off,” Mickey grits out, eyes screwed up and brows furrowed, ”get the fuck away from me.”

Ian takes back his hand but doesn’t move, shaking his head. ”Can’t do that.”

”Ian,” Mickey pleads, all aggression gone from his voice when he winces and curls into himself, ”leave.”

Ian isn’t sure what he’s doing when he carefully climbs up on the bed and lies down on his side, facing Mickey but careful not to touch him. Crossing his arms and mirroring Mickey’s pose.

”Hey,” he says, ”I trust you.”

Mickey’s eyes are red when they blink open, glossy and milky and completely red. He’s shaking, and mouth falling open Ian can see his extended canine teeth. Ian remembers having a reaction to Mickey once, one he didn’t understand then but makes sense now. Like there’s something in his DNA conditioned to be instinctually afraid of what Mickey is. It’s not there now, he doesn’t feel afraid at all.

Maybe it’s delusion, maybe it’s adrenalin, maybe he knows that Mickey won’t hurt him.

He shuffles closer, Mickey flinching and trying to get away, closing his eyes and shying back. Ian doesn’t hesitate, he aligns their bodies, tangles their legs and hugs an arm around Mickey’s chest, bringing it up his spine to soothingly run his fingers through the short hairs on the back of his neck. Then he nudges their faces together and carefully presses a slow, sincere kiss to Mickey’s cold lips, before he wraps him up completely and buries his face in his shoulder, Mickey’s wet lips moving against him, mouthing, kissing, sucking at his neck, frantic at first but quickly calming down, pressing into Ian’s skin but never breaking it.

”I love you,” Ian whispers into his ear and takes a moment to press his nose against Mickey and breath him in, before he pulls back and lies down, leaving only a few inches of space between their faces.

Mickey’s crying, eyes wet and bloodshot, but back to their normal stormy blue when he opens them to stare at Ian.

”I hate you,” he deadpans, voice cracking, and only ruins it a little when something seems to ripple through him and he has to close his eyes again. Ian thinks he might be genuinely smiling for the first time since he woke up this morning, but it slips away just as quickly as Mickey’s snarky bravado.

”Say something,” Mickey demands, eyes still closed and throat working convulsively.

Ian steels himself and tries to sound casual. ”If you magically could turn human again, what would you do?”

Mickey groans, but pressing the side of his face into the soft pillow he can’t quite hide the slight upwards twitch of his lips.

”Pizza,” he says, with conviction, ”ten of ’em. Eleven if you want one.”

Ian kinda trembles with a laugh that doesn’t quite make it all the way, unwilling to break the tender, quiet moment.

”Ain’t sharing,” Mickey obviously tries to sound unaffected, but he’s wincing and his voice is strained with effort to hold himself back.

”And after pizza?” Ian asks, carefully trailing his hand up and down Mickey’s spine, trying to gauge if he’s helping or making things worse. Mickey’s face relaxes just a little bit, so he keeps going.

”Outside,” Mickey hums, ”in the sun. Gonna get burned but I won’t die. Bet your pasty ass glows in the sun.”

”You want me and my ’pasty ass’ with you?” Ian asks with a smile, derailed for a second from the purpose of his covert enquiry.

”Bet you’re beautiful in the sun,” Mickey mumbles, and Ian isn’t sure he meant to say that out loud.

”What else?” he whispers.

”Grow old.”

Ian frowns in surprise, hope egging his heart to beat faster. ”You wouldn’t mind that?”

”Ian,” Mickey sighs, sounding barely conscious and almost smiling, ”’m ’n accountant, man. Not like Christian Slater ’s bangin’ on my door for that interview. Jus’ wanna live.”

Ian doesn’t press any further, he’s got all the permission he needs and Mickey seems to fall back into his hibernation, his breathless, pulseless body going completely still once more. But Ian doesn’t make it off the bed before Mickey’s eyes fly open and his hand shoots out to grab him by the wrist.

”When it happens,” he says, voice low but clear, ”promise me you’ll end it.”

Ian thinks he’d probably let Mickey eat him before going through with this mercy killing fallback Mickey’s been insisting on since that first night when they told each other everything. But he _will_ end it, he will take Terry down and end this once and for all, and if Mickey wants him, he’ll spend the rest of his life making sure they can grow old together.

”I promise,” he says, nodding as Mickey closes his eyes in relief and lies back down on the pillow.

Mandy is alone in the office when he steps back out from the bedroom, silently closing the door behind himself. She says nothing, but wraps her arms around him and doesn’t mention his wet face, making a mess of her shirt, or his tight grip, squeezing around her waist a little too hard.

They’re still hours away from sunup so he tries to get some rest, curled up on Mickey’s lumpy two-seater and pretty sure he doesn’t actually manage even a full minute of sleep. He sits up and tries to stretch the exhaustion out of his shoulders.

”When’s sunrise?” he asks Mandy, who always has it pegged down to the minute.

”7:26,” she says, true to form, and lets the curtain fall back over the window where she’s been standing vigil, turning to look at Ian across the room, ”still two hours to go.”

Ian checks in on Mickey one last time, and maybe he stands in the doorway and stares into the dark room a little longer than necessary, until his eyes adjust and he imagines that he can see the curves of Mickey’s still body.

He leaves with more than an hour to spare, taking the train and reaching Rosehill when the first hints of light tint the sky a dusty blue. He stares up at the large, imposing limestone entrance and almost doesn’t notice it when someone comes up behind him.

”Ian.”

He turns around and holds out his arms a little when Fiona picks up her step and jogs towards him, pulling him into a crushing embrace.

”I’m so sorry,” she tells him and holds his face in her hands when she steps back, Debbie hugging on to his arm as soon as she gets a window. Ian nods at her and tries to give her a decently reassuring smile.

”Sorry,” she says, too, and quirks a sad smile, ”hey, let’s go kill ourselves a vampire.”

Ian huffs and feels a lot better when Fiona smiles wide and drops her hands, and Ian notices Lip and Carl on either side of her. Carl nods at him and holds up a chainsaw and a baseball bat, raising an eyebrow.

”I’m kinda attached to this one,” he says and indicates his head towards the rusty blade of the chainsaw, ”but it’s yours if you want it, bro.”

Ian grins and shakes his head. ”You got a gun?”

”Please,” Carl dismisses his question with a pleased smile, throwing the bat over to Debbie so he can drop the heavy duffle bag from his shoulder.

They arm themselves to the teeth, kitchen knives and switchblades stuck into pockets and belts, handguns in waistbands and Carl’s surprisingly sharp ’ceremonial’ swords in hand, Carl sticking to his first choice and letting his siblings have at the rest of his mixed-bag armory.

Fiona takes the lead, and in formation they march through the cemetery as the first rays of sunlight hit the gravestones and a few early birds break the tense silence. They pause outside the mausoleum and take a moment to look up at the imposing building.

”Thanks,” Ian says and looks around at his brothers and sisters, armed and ready to fight his battles alongside him without a hint of hesitation. ”Don’t look him in the eyes, don’t let him bite you. There are no windows so we can’t really use the sun, but he shouldn’t know we’re coming, so let’s use that to our advantage. Go in fast, don’t hesitate.”

Busting the door open, it becomes horribly clear right away that Terry’s been expecting them, standing along the far wall of the room, safely out of reach from the sunlight streaming in through the open door, are three revved up henchmen and the large, imposing stem himself, flanked by Ian’s worst nightmare.

Mandy is standing next to him, eyes dull and shoulders slumped, and with an arm locked around his throat and body shielding most of Terry’s large bulk, is Mickey.

Ian’s one quick mistake away from shooting, finger leaving the trigger and hands lowering his gun the second he sees Mickey’s pale face, stepping further into the big, empty marble chamber.

”Mick?” he says, hoping for any kind of reaction from his boyfriend, any kind of small window to whip his gun back up and shoot without the risk of hitting the wrong person.

But Mickey doesn’t react and Terry grins when he tightens the hold he’s got around his neck and leans forward to put his lips to Mickey’s ear.

”Kill him,” he says, the quiet demand clear enough to travel through the whole room, signaling an end to the tense standoff. On both sides of him, Ian is vaguely aware of his siblings shouting and pushing forward, running past him and headfirst into battle. Ian doesn’t move, focus locked on Mickey’s red eyes and slow, predatory approach.

He holds up his gun and trains it on Mickey, and then steps backwards until he feels the door against his shoulder blades, closing behind him as he backs into it. No fucking way he’s gonna let Mickey die like this, high on hunger and forgetting to mind the light.

”Mick,” he says and tries to ignore the still figure of Terry looming in the background when he lowers the gun again and sticks it back into the lining of his pants.

”I trust you,” he says and swallows hard when Mickey reaches him, only pausing when Ian holds out his hand and keeps him at arm’s length, ”you’re stronger than him.”

His breath catches and his voice wavers when Mickey pushes forward, strumming with energy and almost snarling with desire as he goes for the neck. It’s easy to imagine it’s just another Thursday morning, and Mickey’s only intention is to please him, make love to him, it's easy to let him in close even though Ian knows he's dangerous. Ian shudders when he feels something sharp pushing into the thin skin of his neck, threatening and wanting, and he thinks he should be struggling but instead he lets out an involuntary gasp and wraps his arms around Mickey’s shoulders, digs his hands into his hair, holds him close.

”I trust you,” he says again and bites his lip over a soft cry when there’s a sharp pain in his neck and throbbing through his veins, ”I trust you, Mick, I-”

He’s starting to feel a little lightheaded, sagging in Mickey’s firm grip. There’s screaming and yelling all around him, drowning in the static of his own slow heartbeat, pounding in his ears. Then it all flows back like a bucket of water crashing over his head, and he’s gasping for air and fighting to remain standing when Mickey tears himself away and backs off, wiping at the red around his mouth but his eyes clear and blue.

Ian grins and then slumps down on his ass, his knees folding under his weight. Mickey opens his mouth as though to say something when suddenly his body is flung to the side, flying across the room and hitting hard against a wall, landing on the ground like a rag doll. Ian tears his eyes from his lifeless body just in time to see Terry raging towards him, big, tattooed arms flailing wildly and eyes glowing.

Scrambling back against the door, Ian fumbles for his gun and pulls it out, his shaking body falling back on his training and stilling for a second when he holds it out and fires four precision shots, all hitting Terry right in the throat one after the other, stopping him in his track.

He lets out a garbled cry and claws at his throat, blood not pumping out of him like it should, but pouring from the wound and down his chest. Fixing Ian once more with his murderous stare he seems to recover his balance and sways forward to continue his onslaught.

But then there’s the sharp swing of a bat and the squishy ’thwack’ of wood hitting skin and bone, and Terry’s whole head is torn clean off his shot up neck and sent flying across the room, his body falling like timber and crashing into the marble floor.

”Holy shit, Mandy,” Ian gasps, his neck stinging but doesn’t seem to be bleeding when he drops the gun and puts a hand over Mickey’s bite as he looks up at Mandy, still holding the bat and glaring at the immobile body of her stem like she expects it to spring to life again. Hearing her name, she looks up and immediately drops her bat, walking right over the prostrate body and kneeling down next to Ian, taking his head in her hands.

”I’m so sorry,” she whispers, ”he summoned us right after you left, I couldn’t resist him, I’m so sorry.”

”It’s okay,” he says and tries to hug her back when she clings to him. Blinking he looks around the room, heart in his throat as he spots all his siblings intact and alive, eyes wild and grins uncertain as they gather around center stage. Mickey is not amongst the ones still standing though, so Ian pushes gently at Mandy to get her to help him on his feet.

”Ian,” Fiona’s voice is sharp and urgent, causing Ian to look up, arm around Mandy’s shoulders for support. The headless body is moving, struggling to get on its feet and doing a really good job at it, all things considered.

”Shit,” Mandy sighs and leaves Ian to rest against the wall so she can walk up to the now fully erect and headless stem, his arms out and blindly grabbing after anyone and everyone, ”poke him, get him out in the sun.”

She gives Fiona a pointed glare when no one moves.

”Who me?” Fiona starts, wide-eyed and genuinely surprised.

”I can’t do it,” Mandy snarks and gestures towards her still teenage body, ”just like, herd him out there.”

Fiona shrugs and with the help of Debbie, Lip and Carl, she awkwardly starts to usher the disoriented body towards the door. Ian takes a deep breath and one hand on the wall he manages to get to the door and open it just in time for his siblings to push the stubborn vampire out into the sun.

He catches on fire instantly, arms waving silently and legs stumbling down the steps to the small gravel courtyard in front of the mausoleum, where it collapses into a pile of rattling bones.

”The bones are still moving,” Lip notes, a concerned crease to his forehead. Ian looks at him and then turns to Fiona and Carl on his other side.

”Where’s the head?” he asks and looks back at Mandy hiding in the shadows, who does a quick ocular sweep of the room and shrugs.

”Oh!” Carl says and grins sheepishly when all eyes turn to him and he holds up the scowling head of Terry, his grip tight on the thin hair. ”Souvenir?”

”Carl!” all four of his siblings scold him like a chorus.

”Throw it out!” Fiona insists and steps aside for Carl to stand next to Ian and lob out the head, landing with a smack and rolling past the still searing pile of moving bones, finally settling down when the head kinda explodes in a quick blaze of fire.

”What happened to your chainsaw?” Ian asks with a frown, turning his head to look at his younger brother.

”No gas,” Carl shrugs, eyes still on the slowly dying fire.

”No gas,” Ian hums and gives his shoulder a consoling pat, it’s the thought that counts, ”wanna crush the bones?”

Carl lights up like a little kid and accepts the bat when Lip hands it to him, eyes shining.

”Cool,” he says and grins at Ian, ”awesome.”

Content with the knowledge that Terry’s remains will be well taken care of, Ian makes his way back inside as fast as he can, waving away Lip’s offer to support him when he spots Mickey still slumped on the floor in the far corner of the room.

Gingerly he gets on his knees next to him and puts his hands to his shoulder, bracing to turn him around when Mandy suddenly shrieks behind him.

”Fuck!” she exclaims, her hands and eyes on her chest when Ian turns his head to look at her, ”my boobs just dropped like two inches.”

”Grew, too,” Lip provides with an appreciative grin.

Mandy shoots him a quick glare, but then she looks back down at herself and tilting her head to the side she squeezes her new C-cups together and winks at Lip. ”You like?”

Ian rolls his eyes at them and turns his attention back to where it should be, back to Mickey, who’s letting out an annoyed groan and is turning around on his own, slumping down on his back and pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes.

”Mick,” Ian breathes and then huffs out a laugh when Mickey drops his hands and blinks up at him, ”hey.”

”Hey,” Mickey mutters, struggling up on his elbows to look around the room and then back at Ian, little crow’s feet creasing the corners of his eyes when he smirks and raises his eyebrows in question.

”Well… how do I look, Gallagher?” he says, sounding confident but the tip of his tongue worrying at his bottom lip revealing differently.

He looks older, he looks good. He looks alive.

Ian smiles and tries to look at least a little bit cool about it.

”Don’t know if you know this about me,” he says, and grabs Mickey by the shoulders to help him when he struggles to sit up, ”but I kinda have a thing for older men.”

”What the fuck,” Mickey groans and slaps away Ian’s hands to manage his maneuver on his own, turning and slouching back against the wall.

”No,” he continues and scowls, pointing menacingly at Ian, ”you did not just compare me to the prune-sacked geriatric viagroids you used to stick it to before me.”

Ian huffs and rolls his eyes, twisting around so he can sit down next to his boyfriend, bending his knees and knocking one of them gently against Mickey’s.

”Just sayin’,” he shrugs, ”it works out.”

”Yeah, alright,” Mickey sighs, but it sounds a lot like a chuckle, ”thanks for nothing, asshole.”

Ian thinks his face could split in two with his wide smile, and he rests his head back against the cold, smooth stone and closes his eyes for a minute, trying to pull himself together and not have his mind run away with either his hopes or fears. Mickey never promised him anything, and being alive it’s entirely possible that he will change his mind about some things. And one of them might be Ian.

Opening his eyes Ian turns his head and looks at Mickey’s calm profile, his chest moving slightly with his newfound breath, his still pale skin now in technicolor.

Ian smiles, because he can’t help it. He’s always been a fan of hope. ”Pizza?”

Mickey’s smile is wide and beautiful, and he carefully touches the pads of his fingers to his chest, right over his heart, and then to his mouth, rubbing thoughtfully over his bottom lip. Then he nods.

”Alright, let’s go,” Ian says, but isn’t sure if he really has the strength to get up right now and make it happen. He turns away from Mickey to look at Mandy and his family over by the door, talking and watching Carl’s ritualistic bone-grinding outside, the rhythmic thuds of his bat reaching them all the way inside the mausoleum.

Sucking in a deep breath he heaves off the wall, only to feel Mickey’s hand on his shoulder, urging him to sit back.

”Hold up,” he says and meets his eyes when Ian settles back and turns his head, ”don’t know if you know this about me, but I kinda got a thing for _you_.”

Ian thinks he could burst with happiness, but that doesn’t mean he’s gonna let Mickey live this one down.

”That,” he huffs and screws up his eyes when he fucking _giggles_ and it hurts his whole body, ”is the single cheesiest thing anyone’s ever said to me.”

Mickey picks up his eyebrows in a perfect arch, corners of his mouth twitching with the beginnings of a smile. ”Should fucking hope so.”

”Like really, _really_ bad.”

Now Mickey’s turning red, and Ian realizes he’s never seen him blush before. It’s instantly his new favorite thing.

”Fuck you.”

”It’s gonna be hard, after this,” Ian laments, sighing and grinning wider when Mickey shakes his head at him, ”but I’ll do my best.”

”Man,” Mickey complains, glancing sideways at Ian and showing a split second of uncertainty before he hides behind a confident smirk, ”shut the fuck up and kiss me.”

Ian leans in but stops with an inch between them, hesitating just so he can properly enjoy the feel of Mickey’s breath tickling over his skin and the discreet new nuances to the way he smells, less dust and more sweat, and _all good_.

”Thought it was pizza first,” he teases, jutting out his chin so their lips graze but don’t quite touch.

Mickey answers by pressing forward and capturing his lips, shutting him up. They’ve pretty much been making out non-stop since August but now, here, _this_ almost feels like the very first time they kiss. Like Ian’s rediscovering Mickey’s solid presence and soft lips, his wet tongue and the tiny noises at the back of his throat, sending currents of pleasure thrumming through his whole body. Ian can’t help smiling into it, and pressing their foreheads together he detaches himself from Mickey’s mouth just enough to speak.

”You’re warm,” he says, because it’s a fucking miracle and they made it happen, ”can’t believe it.”

Mickey licks his lips and kinda rubs their noses together when he nods. ”Is it okay?”

”Trust me,” Ian says and smiles, ”it’s perfect.”

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> What?? Okay, so, I've had this document in my WIP folder for over a year, I think. Someone said something on tumblr about Mickey starring in an AU as a Vampire Accountant and it was so long ago I can't even remember who it was. If you recognise yourself as a guilty party, please let me know so I can credit you?
> 
> Vamps (2012) is a wonderful movie by Amy Heckerling, and this thing is set within the universe of that story.
> 
> This was honestly going to be a silly little thing, but it escalated, as per usual. I've been working on it alongside White Swallow and really wanted to post it on Tuesday, as a kind of Halloween hangover cure. But plans are meant to be undone, and Kerri, every day is Halloween in your heart. You don't know it but you inspired me to write this one, thank you for your enthusiasm and your positive presence within this fandom. 
> 
> <3 you all, until Sunday!


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